


morning glory

by itsahockeynight



Series: 2018 Playoff fics [4]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017-2018 NHL Season, 2018 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Established Relationship, I cannot believe I get to write this, M/M, Victory Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 02:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14945696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsahockeynight/pseuds/itsahockeynight
Summary: Waking up in Vegas, Stanley Cup champions style.





	morning glory

**Author's Note:**

> \- Holy shit y’all. HOLY SHIT  
> \- if you’re in any way associated with the NHL or any of the players mentioned above, please close this tab  
> \- maths and twitter suggests that neither of these men were sober that morning. they are hungover instead of drunk in this because... I started writing it before I realised. whoops. also I’ve never been drunk in my life and thought it would be easier to write hungover hockey players than drunk hockey players. please, please excuse any and all inaccuracies, I have no idea what I’m doing

Sasha makes the mistake of opening one of his eyes as he wakes up. It’s fine for a second, then his head gets with the program, and _fuck_. He’s awake. He does not want to be awake. He wants to fucking die.

Maybe not die. Something might have already died in his mouth, though. He keeps his eyes closed now, because he’s learning. Something else is twisting a drill into his head. He takes a few deep breaths. Fuck. Shit. Okay. He’s probably not going to throw up.

Wait. Where’s the fucking Cup?

Sasha opens his eyes.

He’s in a hotel room. It might not be his hotel room. He honestly can’t remember what his hotel room looks like. He’s lying facing the other bed, and he blinks a few times, trying to work out what he’s looking at. Oh, thank God. The Cup is – the Cup is _tucked in_ , neatly under the covers like a little kid. God. He has no fucking clue how he got here, he’s still wearing one of his shoes, but somehow he managed that. Sasha would laugh if he thought his head could stand it.

Crisis averted, his attention drifts, slowly, over to the clock on the bedside table. Seven AM. Jesus, it’s a miracle he’s not still drunk. Maybe if he falls asleep again he’ll skip all the worst stuff and wake up not hungover anymore. It’s unrealistic, but it’s really fucking tempting. He has to be on a plane in a few hours. That’s going to be an absolute disaster.

There’s a snuffling noise from behind him. Oh shit. There’s someone in – on? – the bed with him.  It better be a teammate, or Sasha’s going to be in so much trouble. Sasha closes his eyes while he rolls onto his other side, because he _really_ doesn’t want to throw up. When he opens them again, he sees Nicky, drooling onto his pillow, hair everywhere, fingers flexing a bit a few inches from Sasha’s face. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Maybe Nicky tucked the Cup in. That seems like something he’d do while drunk. He once folded and put away all of Sasha’s washing after a few shots of tequila, years ago. Sasha wouldn’t put it past him.

He reaches out and touches Nicky’s flushed cheek. Nicky makes a grumbling noise and flails a hand in his general direction. He ends up slapping Sasha in the face with his fucked up hand, and that seems to wake him the rest of the way up, whimpering. Sasha catches his wrist as gently as he can, waits, then kisses the palm once Nicky blinks his eyes open.

Nicky makes a very soft “oh” noise, and yeah, it’s a bit like that.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” Nicky closes his eyes again. “My head fucking _hurts_.”

Sasha kisses his hand again. “It’s okay, we match.”

Nicky wrinkles his nose. “I thought Russians don’t get hungover.”

Sasha is really torn between moving as little as possible and getting over there and kissing his entire face. “I never drink that much before.” He aches all over, but he’s so fucking _happy_.

“I guess.” Sasha can’t even remember the last time Nicky got drunk, let alone plastered like he must have been last night. This morning. Whatever.

“Oh shit.” Nicky jerks, tries to sit up and fails miserably. “The Cup, what happened to the Cup –”

“It’s in other bed.” Nicky frowns at him, then tries to sit up again. He makes it this time, sort of. He can at least see over Sasha, and Sasha watches his face go from confusion to surprise and then relief. Then he starts laughing, which must really fucking hurt his head, but it is pretty funny. Sasha laughs too, hangover be damned.

They’re the motherfucking Stanley Cup champions. They can do whatever they want.

He kicks his shoe off with some difficulty and crawls over to drape himself half over Nicky. Nicky’s still giggling as he wraps Sasha up in his arms. God, Sasha loves him. He tells him so, and Nicky giggles more. Good. He’s never going to be sad again, Sasha’s decided. He hates sad Nicky. Sad Nicky can get fucked. Sasha’s got happy Nicky now and he’s fucking keeping him.

Nicky kisses him. Nicky kisses him, and yeah, fuck a hangover, Sasha kisses back, sliding his tongue over Nicky’s lips and inside when he sighs and opens his mouth. He tastes foul, Sasha probably tastes foul, but it doesn’t matter. He slides his hand under Nicky’s shirt and kneads at the soft skin of his stomach. Nicky moans, and Sasha shivers.

They’re both wearing too much clothes for this.

It takes a bit of manoeuvring to get them naked, even though all the buttons on Sasha’s shirt are gone for some reason. Nicky pulls him back in whenever Sasha tries to get his own shorts off, kissing him over and over, sloppy and needy. Sasha sinks into it, tangling his fingers in Nicky’s hair. It’s so fucking good. They’ve barely done anything more than kiss in weeks, they’ve been so busy and tired. Now they can grind together, skin on skin again finally. They’re too desperate to do anything more complicated.

Nicky bites Sasha’s shoulder and it’s like electricity, like fire running through him. Sasha kisses every inch of Nicky he can reach and feels him moan and writhe beneath him like an extension of himself. There’s pre-come smeared between them, the drag of their dicks together is so fucking perfect, and Sasha is so turned on he can barely think.

Fuck, fuck. “Nicky, please,” he gasps out, shaking. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for – he just wants _more_.

Nicky says “yeah,” and arcs his back. Sasha buries his face in Nicky’s neck, groaning. It feels so good, he’s so close, he needs –

Nicky’s arms are around Sasha’s chest and he draws them even closer together. Sasha’s falling apart and Nicky’s not much better, the rhythm lost as they get more and more desperate. It’s so much, it’s so, it’s so, Nicky’s –

Nicky whines and bucks up against him again before coming all of a sudden. It’s too much and sends Sasha over the edge as well, choking on a sob as he comes. He crushes his face back into Nicky’s neck and stays there until the wave of it passes. He feels wrung out all of a sudden, but also light as a feather, like everything he’s ever wanted has suddenly coalesced and come to the surface. It has, more or less. He has Nicky. He has the Cup. What else is there?

Nicky shifts a bit underneath him so Sasha rolls off to let him breathe. He looks like Sasha feels, slightly out of it but so, so happy. Sasha leans in to kiss him again, curling around him. He feels warm all over. Hopefully whoever has to come find them to get them on the plane doesn’t have a room key, because Sasha’s probably going back to sleep right here.

He’s drifting off when Nicky mumbles something into Sasha’s hair. He drags his head up to see Nicky blinking slowly at him, smiling. “Love you,” he repeats, and Sasha turns his face into Nicky’s chest and closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> say hi on [tumblr](https://itsahockeynight.tumblr.com) if you like!


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